“When you’re a kid, age matters a lot,” Babs, my mom, said the other day. We were lounging on her living room sofa killing time before her friends, Dick and Fern, came over for dinner.
Hang on. What’s that? You think I’m lying about their names being Dick and Fern? Would I lie about something like that? Babs even gave me permission to use their real names in this post! (Then again, Babs also gave me permission to paint my aunt’s house as a surprise gift…)
Dick and Fern have been friends with my parents since before bottled water was a thing.
“You know. If you’re seven and the neighbors are ten it’s a huge deal,” Babs went on. “Then you get into your 20s and it really doesn’t matter at all.”
She took a gulp of wine.
“Then it starts to matter again.”
She paused and gave me a look.
“Dick and Fern are a few years older than us so they’re in their 70s now,” Babs said. “And just look at this.” She whipped out her phone and showed me the text message that Fern had just sent.
“Late because of rain! At least she finally got a smart phone this year,” Babs went on. “Before that she was doing the texting where you had to hit the number keys over and over!”
I didn’t have the heart to remind Babs how recent her own memorable smart phone purchase was.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It also seems like there’s get-off-my-lawn-seventy and I-AM-JUST-GETTING-STARTED-B*TCH-SEVENTY.”
This, of course, got me thinking of my own friendships. Had there ever been an age gap that suddenly became too pronounced? Is there ever a “cut off” when you can no longer relate, whether it’s on a surface level with cultural references, or emotionally based on various life stages?
So far, at 36, age has never been an issue in my friendships, though it’s still certainly bittersweet when they fade for other reasons: Distance, difference of opinion, or interests in chipmunks and priorities that no longer align.
My advice to Babs? Might as well stick it out. At least you’ll get to tell your favorite stories over and over.
As long as it’s not raining, that is.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Go Jules Go 
love this post – and so true
Thank you!!
Babs is at that age where she feeds you a brownie with a tracking device inside, then sits in her armchair watching where you are via her iPad. If she offers you a brownie, don’t eat it.
Ah HAH. I knew there was a reason she kept dangling that vegan blueberry pie under my nose last weekend…
Yep. Don’t trust her. Everything she serves to you should be inspected by a trained chipmunk before consuming.
The pics make the post LOL I’m 48 and have started worrying about getting older. Blah….my 30th class reunion is this weekend YIKES
When I’m facing something like that, often the ONLY thing that comforts me is the thought, “Well, the worse it is, the better blog post will be…”
I have friends older and I have friends younger. When I was 15 I was hanging out with people 5 and 6 years older than me. It has been the norm to not care about age. Until now…the only thing about the “younger” people these days is their terrible vocabulary. I’m a word girl. I have no idea what “yeet” means.
Yam-like feet? “Yeesh” with a weird accent? “Yes, I’d like to eat”? Yeah. No. I got nothin’.
I’m only 6.9 years old in dog years.
They still card me at Trader Joe’s. …They also card my dad…
Yup. They card me too. At this point, I could be a mom to a 21-year-old. Clearly, clerks are instructed to card anyone that’s breathing. It’s pretty damned depressing, I tells ya!
I aspire to JUST-GETTING-STARTED-B*TCH-SEVENTY.
A girl’s gotta have goals.